


All the dreams we had

by Marayanna



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merlin and Arthur get thrown into the world where they are just simple people, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 18:10:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18036335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marayanna/pseuds/Marayanna
Summary: What it all boiled down to, was the knife on Merlin’s throat, and a choice. The right to the throne and his life as a Crown Prince, or Merlin's life.For both of them the choice is obvious, though as it turns out, different.





	All the dreams we had

What it all boiled down to, was the knife on Merlin’s throat, and a choice.

Arthur could do nothing but stare at the scene in front of him, too afraid to move in case the smallest twitch sets off the sorcerer’s wrath and seals Merlin’s fate. His eyes were glued to his friend’s wrist, an iron handband wrapped around it so innocently one could forget it was even there.  Except, the longer he looked, the paler Merlin became, visibly struggling to stay upright, and Arthur hated it, hated what the iron was doing to him. Doing to his magic.

“What will it be, Arthur Pendragon?” the sorcerer’s voice was high with glee, an early celebration of a victory he believed to be his already. Arthur moved his gaze, not to him, but to the blade, the place where it met Merlin’s skin. “Make your choice. Or he dies.”

The strange crystal in Arthur’s hand seemed to weight much more than it physically could, pulling him down as he gripped it tightly. Such a small thing, holding the fate of the entire kingdom. And, more importantly, the fate of Merlin.

“And if I really _do_ crush it, as you are asking of me,” he said, throat dry “Then I die?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Arthur Pendragon, you do not. You merely… change your place, in the grand scheme of things. The place that shouldn’t be yours anyway. You won’t be a prince, or a king, neither once nor future one” he laughed, as if seeing the past and the future without Arthur filled him with unspeakable joy.

Arthur listened numbly. He felt as if someone else was in his skin, someone else was taking in the sorcerer’s words and thinking about them and planning the next move. Someone else was holding the stone and this choice and this fate.

Arthur was just standing there, looking at the knife.

He saw Merlin close his eyes, weak and feverish, but resolved, even now. He saw him smile to himself and then laugh, as if he couldn’t stop himself, as if he didn’t have a knife on his throat.

“You’re a fool”  he said, and his voice was strong. “What kind of choice is that? What kind of deal? “ his face was hard and Arthur knew he would glare the sorcerer down, could he look him in the face. And the sorcerer might have even backed off, because Marlin could be scary, too, if he chose to.

 “This is future Once and Future King you’re talking to. Prophesized in legends before you were even _born_. His destiny is in his bones and soul, you blind madman. And you think you’re giving him a _choice”_ Merlin laughed again, this time with sincere bewilderment “Ask a fish to walk on land or a bird to bury itself underground. You _daft fool_ ”

He was swaying from exhaustion by now, but Arhtur could see the conviction in his face and something else in his eyes, and he knew what that was. Because Merlin did the math and could see there was no way out of this for them. So he did what he had always done – protect Arthur. Protect his heart, if nothing else. His little speech was as much for the sorcerer as it was for Arthur’s conscience. Merlin wanted him to hear this.

To know, that Merlin accepted his death.

Their eyes met and there was resolution in Merlin’s, and warmth and love, and silent _It’s all right_. _It’s going to be all right_ and Arthur could hear his heart crack.

The sorcerer couldn’t break the stone for Arthur – it had to be a choice. And once Merlin was out of the way, there will be nothing stopping the prince from getting to the weakened man and slaying him on the spot. Arthur was a knight, always ready to protect those around him, but he was also a ruler, and that meant accepting that sometimes people will die for him, and there was nothing that could be done. It was perhaps the hardest lesson Merlin could bestow upon his friend, but he seemed ready to do so.

Arthur could see all of this in Merlin’s eyes, plain as day.

He could see them closing, as the sorcerer pulled his hair harshly until he faced the ceiling, until he bared his throat for the knife. The wristband seemed to weight him down, just like a stone weights down a drowning man.

He saw Merlin brace himself and the knife move.  
  
  


It was a sound of dying bird, one that the crystal being crushed on the ground made.  
  


.

  
Melin woke up with a gasp, his body moving even before he could make a conscious decision to do so. He jumped out of bed – there was a bed? – but his head was full of cotton and he felt weak, so weak. He collapsed on the floor with a loud crash and immediately tried to get up again, but it was hopeless. Panting from exhaustion, he had no choice but to give his body time to adapt and gather its strength back.

His mind was a mess of scattered thoughts and half-finished questions, all fighting for his attention and all getting lost in the whirlwind of all others.

Arhur crushed the crystal? Arthur crushed the crystal! It was crazy and unbelievable and downright stupid! What was he thinking? Did he understand the what that meant? See the implications? Did  he have a plan?

Where was he now?

Merlin forced himself to stand again, fighting against dizziness. He didn’t have time to lay on the floor, coming up with theories and possibilities. He had to find Arthur immediately.

He left  the room and found himself in some kind of corridor. The corridor… on the second floor. There were stairs just over the corner and a hole on the floor one had to mind while walking, just on his right. The house was in Geriva, second largest city in the country, just after Camelot…

It was his house.

He blinked and slumped on the wall to steady himself, his breath becoming agitated. It was not his body failing under him this time, but his mind. There was a story in his head… no, that was his life, his and Arhur’s, a life that had nothing to do with Camelot and royalty and destiny. It felt faint, like a memory of a book that was read a long time ago, but with every passing moment it became more and more detailed, more and more vivid.

Throat clenching with fear he had never felt before in his life, he rushed to the room he _knew_ was Arthur’s, and threw the door open.

Arthur was sitting on his bed, head in his hands. But he looked up when Merlin barged in, looking more annoyed than surprised.

“Gods above, Merlin. Could you _be_ any louder? My head is killing me and it’s _your_ fault, so at least be quiet!”

Merlin stumbled in his mad rush to get to Arthur’s side, to check him for any injuries, to ask questions he wasn’t sure how to form yet. But he stopped, because Arthur’s words didn’t make sense and his mild irritation didn’t match the severity of the situation, unless…

_They’ve spent last night in the bar with their friends, celebrating Merlin’s promotion at the Academy. He was to become an official Mage, a title not easy to obtain, much less by someone so young. The celebration was loud and enthusiastic, and lasted long after the first rays of sunrise peeked over the horizon. They made their way back in the early morning, Arthur supporting Merlin’s weight and throwing obscenities at him about his weak head, and Merlin giggling and conjuring up butterflies…_

And then they woke up in their beds.

 _That_ was what Arthur remembered now.

Merlin’s legs gave up underneath him. He fell to his knees, suddenly numb, unable to understand.

The sorcerer said _you won’t be a prince or a king, neither once nor a future one._

_Neither once…_

And Merlin remembered now. King Uther and Queen Ygraine ruled peacefully. They had a child, born out of wedlock but granted all the rights of a rightful heir.

Princess Morgana.

Merlin felt sick.

Arthur looked at him for a few moments, then sighed heavily.

“You’re hopeless” he muttered, standing up “You’re lucky you have me to look after you. Stay here, I will bring you some water” and he walked out, leaving Merlin to deal with the shards of his world that was torn to pieces.

Arthur was the prince and Once and Future King, and Merlin was his servant, protecting him from hiding. 

Arthur was an orphan, found and raised by Hunith and Balinor along with their son. The two of them left their town together in search of career and fortune, and found it in Geriva, where Arthur became brilliant politician, promptly raising in ranks despite his lack of parentage, and Merlin pursued his passion as a scientist specializing in magical craft, yes, magical, because the magic wasn’t banned, because the Purge never happened, because prince Arthur was never born…

Those two different lifetimes were equally strong and vivid in his mind now.

But it seemed that Arthur only remembered one.

He gathered himself from the floor and sat heavily on the bed, head in his hands much like Arthur sat just moments before.

What should he do? Where should he look for a way to untangle this mess? Was Gaius still in Camelot? Did he even remember?

What if _nobody_ else remembered?

He heard the floor creak, and the cup of water appeared in front of his face. He took it, absentmindedly, and looked up at Arthur, who in turn was looking down at him, concerned.

“You look terrible, and I don’t mean in the usual way. Are you alright?” and there was honest worry in his voice, one he didn’t try to hide, and Merlin froze, taken aback.

It took a moment for understanding to sink in. Yes, in this world, Arthur wasn’t a Pendragon. It meant he wasn’t a prince, obviously, but it also meant that he wasn’t raised by Uther, wasn’t forced to accept the smell of burned flesh, to push his men into manhunts, to hide his emotions and fears.

In this world, Arthur was allowed to pave his own way through the world, to live only by his own rules, to wake up with a hangover and bring water for a friend.

He was unguarded and unbothered in a way that Merlin couldn’t _imagine_ him being in Camelot.

One last question wedged itself deep into Merlin’s mind, heavy with implications. Not the question of how to reverse this.

But if he even should.  


End file.
